


Doucement s'en va le Jour (Gently The Day Drifts Off)

by thek9kid



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Childhood Memories, French Lullaby, Gen, Grandmothers, Jewish Character, Memories, World War II, conspiracy boards
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:07:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25770328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thek9kid/pseuds/thek9kid
Summary: What if Instead of a cross necklace, Nile was wearing a Star of David necklace?
Relationships: Andy | Andromache of Scythia & Nile Freeman, Booker & Andy & Joe & Nicky & Original Female Character(s), Booker | Sebastien Le Livre & Original Female Character(s), Booker | Sebastien le Livre & Nile Freeman, Nile Freeman & Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Nile Freeman & Nicky | Nicolo di Genova, Nile Freeman & Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 196





	Doucement s'en va le Jour (Gently The Day Drifts Off)

A/N: Hey guys! So I love The Old Guard and this is my first idea for this fandom that I actually finished. It mostly came from the thought of what if Nile was Jewish and her Grandma was rescued by The Old Guard during WWII. I hope you enjoy it!

Disclaimer: I own nothing except the emotional plot of this story.

Nile stared in awe at Copley’s Historical Immortal Warriors Conspiracy board, complete with red yarn linking pictures to news articles. The man must have put months, even years of work into this. She smiled at a photo of Nicky handing out bottled water to children, of Andy standing between a woman on the ground and a police officer with a baton during the 60s US Civil Rights movement. Of Joe in uniform, a red cross on his shoulder, bandaging up a child, who following the red yarn, would turn out to be a Nobel peace prize winner. 

Her eyes widened when she saw Booker’s college professor ID card from 2017 and tried to imagine what those classes must have been like. She wasn’t sure if she was envious or piteous of those students.

She froze when she caught a glimpse of a photo, almost buried behind another news article. She saw people in black and white striped clothes moving slowly through a forest. She gently moved the article aside to see the full picture. The photo showed all four members of the team, guiding a group of people, mostly children and the elderly. Her hand slowly reached for her Star of David necklace, the one her Grandmother gave her when she was little. She clutched the little gold pendant, the points of the star digging into her fingertips. 

She almost looked away before her eyes focused on a child, an exhausted little girl riding piggyback on Booker’s back. Her eyes were barely open, her hair pulled haphazardly into a messy ponytail, her stick-thin arms and legs locked around Booker’s body.

“Oh my God,” she whispered, just loud enough for the others to hear and turn to her.

“What is it, Nile?” Nicky asked, placing a light hand on her shoulder.

“That’s, that little girl.” She pointed at the picture, “that’s my grandmother.” her voice trembled as she turned to the three of them. “You’re the magic warriors who rescued my grandma.”

“Mayta was your grandmother?” Joe said in wonder.

“You remember her? Specifically?” Nile asked.

“Of course, well, Booker spent the most time with her. He was always good with children, they made him sad, but he understood them. Although we were only with them for a few days while we got them to safety, she left quite the impression,” Nicky said.

“Magic Warriors, huh?” Andy asked, smiling as she brushed her hand over the photo.

“She used to tell me stories about what happened, being separated from her parents and sister, and how scared she was. She told me about how four warriors speaking different languages with guns and swords saved them from the gas chamber.” She looked over at the three present, whose smiles had faded at the reminder of the circumstances they met Mayta under. Nile remembered the horror she felt the first time Grandma told her what the numbers on her arm meant.

“She mostly told me stories about you, made up some interesting backstories too. She didn’t remember your names, just referred to you guys as The Sad Frenchman,” Andy chuckled, sad barely began to cover, it as they learned. “Who carried her and the other kids when they couldn’t walk anymore. Who sang her a lullaby, Doucement s'en va le jour, (Gently the Day Drifts Off) when she was scared. Grandma sang the same one to me when I was little.”

“The Sweet Italian man,” she looked over at Nicky who met her gaze with a slight smile and watery eyes, “who made sure they had enough to eat and were warm enough at night.”

“The Caring, Passionate Muslim man.” She turned to Joe, who ducked his head and swept a hand through his hair, a small smile hiding on his face. “Who let her sleep curled up next to him when she was cold, who whispered sweet nothings to her, both in Polish and a language she didn’t know at the time, but later she thought might be Arabic, until she felt a little safer.” 

“And the Protective Greek woman,” Andy tilted her head in thought, “Who pretended to be a man.” Nile started with a short laugh. 

Andy shrugged and nodded, “It was unavoidable at the time, and just easier.” 

Nile nodded and continued, “Who always went first and made sure no one got left behind, who even doubled back a few times to pick up stragglers.”

“No one left behind,” Andy said and, the others nodded. “Mayta understood that too,” Nile locked eyes with her, memories of her Grandmother floating up to the forefront of her mind. “She was always trying to look after the younger kids, even when she was terrified herself.” Nile turned from Andy and focused on the grainy image of her Grandma Mayta.

~

Nile was seven years old when she found out she was going to be a big sister. She was so excited, but a little scared too. She wasn’t sure how to be a big sister. Nile was at her grandma’s house while her mom was at work. She remembered sitting with her in the backyard playing with the dog, a little terrier named Chase when she asked her if she had a little sibling? She wasn’t sure, as Grandma had rarely talked about her first family.

“I did, sweetheart, oh yes I did,” she sighed, “her name was Edna.” Grandma was quiet for a long time after that.

“Grandma?” Nile had whispered, afraid to break the trance that had come over her. 

Grandma jerked just slightly, “Oh right, yes, my baby sister, she was three years younger than me.”

“Was?” Nile asked, almost afraid of the answer.

“Yes baby, my sister died a long time ago,” her voice cracked and a tear ran down her cheek. She wiped it away and forced a smile. They talked for a long time about all the things Nile could teach her little sibling when they were old enough, how to sing and dance, to play the piano, to throw a football, swim, and play fetch with Chase.

But the last thing Grandma told her about being a big sibling just before she left with her mom, was how incredibly important it was to look out for her little sibling, to protect them. 

Grandma hadn’t told her that night how Edna died, and she never explicitly said it, but from Grandma Mayta’s memories of the concentration camp, it wasn’t hard to put together. Mayta had been able to escape, but Edna hadn’t been so lucky.

~

So with the pain and grief so raw and fresh, it made sense that Grandma would be the one looking out for the younger kids. 

Nile studied the three immortals in front of her, who had saved the world so many times, who saved her Grandma, but were just a little too late to save Edna. She put together her grandmother’s stories and her recent memories of these warriors. It wasn’t hard, Grandma never painted them as untouchable superheroes, but humans trying to do the right thing, and dealing with their own problems. 

Grandma used to tell her about how the Frenchman looked at Mayta and the kids, especially the boys, with pain and sadness. Although whenever they looked back at him or sought him out, the look was gone and he was all smiles and soft gentle words.

She talked about the weariness the Greek woman walked with as if the weight of the world was crushing her. Soon one of her teammates, however, would walk over, and then they seemed to share the load. 

Grandma wondered why the Italian man joined the elderly in their prayers when he wasn’t Jewish. She wondered why he wanted to learn a little Hebrew, maybe just to understand the prayers better? It was the lines of tension in his shoulders, however, that drew Mayta’s attention, she wasn’t sure what ate at his soul, but she hoped the prayers were helping. 

She saw how the Muslim man checked in regularly with not only the Italian man, who she could tell he was close to but the Greek woman and Frenchman as well. She saw how he made the sadness dance out of the Frenchman’s eyes and the Greek woman’s step lighter, the tension ease from the Italian man’s shoulders with a simple touch like he needed to make sure his family was ok, the same way he needed to breathe. Mayta could understand that, the need to make sure the loved ones they have left were ok, especially after losing so much already. It felt the same as she felt never wanting to let go of little Paulette’s hand when they could hear gunfire. She talked about how the Italian and Muslim men were never more then a few arm lengths away from each other, as though if they wandered too far from each other they would disappear from the earth. 

Grandma Mayta didn’t tell these stories often, they weren’t bedtime stories or even traditional stories with a beginning middle and end, and she only told them in her own home. She often only told them when it was just the two of them together.

Sometimes she would tell the epic story of when their little group of refugees was attacked by Germans and of the four magic warriors fighting and protecting when by all rights they should be dead. Sometimes she would spend an hour making up a tragic backstory for the sad look in the Frenchman’s eyes when he smiled at her, everything from receiving letters that his sweetheart left him, to his dog dying, to his baby taking their first steps without him, to the news that his own family was dead, like her own. 

Grandma Mayta didn’t sing to her every night she stayed at her house, usually, she would read from one of her many fairy tale books or when she was older from a chapter book they were reading together. Sometimes though, when Nile had a bad day or was feeling upset, especially after her dad died, Grandma would sing her the French lullaby her sad Frenchman sang all those years ago when Grandma was so scared, to make her feel better. 

Sometimes she told stories of the other children there, of her friend Paulette, who was very shy and skittish but made up quiet games they could play as they walked. She imagined how her life might have turned out.

One time she drew a picture in purple crayon of the Greek Woman’s ax and how she might have come to learn how to use that particular weapon. Sometimes she told stories about the Italian and Muslim men, of what their love story might have been, how they became friends and lovers when they came from such different backgrounds.

Often she just talked, wondered how these four came together, wondered about their lives, and how they came out of every fight bloody but with no wounds. She talked about the four warriors much more often than she did about herself. Every time Nile asked her how she felt, how she got through what happened, she would answer quickly and then deflect back to the magic warriors, they were a safe, almost mythical topic that she could add to, shape, and rearrange. 

Nile never pushed, partly because her mother didn’t want Nile to upset her Grandmother, but also because Nile could see how hard and painful the actual events that happened were for her to talk about.

~ 

Nile wiped her eyes as she turned from the photo back to her team. “I wouldn’t be alive, if it wasn’t for you guys,” Nile said in a breathless whisper, thinking of the odds, how very easily Grandma could have died in that horrid place alongside Enda, and never met Grandpa, had her mother, or her. 

No one said anything for a moment, but then she felt first Joe hug her, and then Nicky’s hug from her left, with Andy squeezing a hand in to rest on her shoulder. They stayed like that for a long time.

~

It was eleven pm here in Lisbon, Portugal, which made it about midnight in Paris. Booker might be asleep, she told herself, maybe she should wait until morning. Knowing Booker though, he was probably still awake just like her. Nile groaned and tossed herself onto her bed, propping up the fluffy blue pillows she had picked out just yesterday. 

Nile wasn’t sure why she was so nervous. It wasn’t the first time she had called Booker since they exiled him, the first was literally the night after as she wanted to make sure he knew that she was there for him if he needed to talk. They hadn’t talked since, but they had exchanged a few texts, mostly memes, dog/cat videos, and nature pics, but it was nice to hear from him once in a while.

Now, she wasn’t exactly sure how to start the conversation. But she knew she needed to have it. This wasn’t something she wanted to text that’s for sure. She had grown up with his lullaby stuck in her head, even though she hadn’t known what the words meant until she spent an embarrassingly long time googling it in high school. French rarely sounds like how it’s written she found out. 

She wanted him to know about the good things he had done in his life. She wasn’t naive enough to think this would immediately make him change and heal, but it might help in some small way.

“C’mon Nile, it’s just a phone call, you’ve done this a million times.” Although not exactly true, she avoided making calls if the same could be accomplished through text or email but she shook that thought off and before she could change her mind, hit the call button. 

It rang three times before he picked up. “Nile?” he asked even though she was the only one who called him nowadays. His voice was gravelly and tired.

“Hey Book,” she hesitated. “Did I wake you up?

“No sleep has been… elusive recently. Are you good? Did something happen?” He asked, clearing his throat, sounding more alert and serious now.

“No, I’m Good. Everything, everyone is fine.”

“Oh, good, Ah, then, what’s up?” he asked sounding more awkward than she felt, it let some of her own tension slip away.

“So it turns out, Copley is a historical conspiracy buff. He has a full wall practically of photos and articles of people you and the others have saved.”

“...Really?” he asked sounding intrigued.

“Yeah, complete with red yarn and everything.”

“Wow, imagine trying to explain that to a non-believer. It’s like that one meme you sent me, of that one guy with the conspiracy board and bloodshot eyes.” 

Nile laughed, she had thought about just sending that meme with no explanation, but they both deserved better than that.

“Yeah, anyway, um, one of those photos, it was, it was my grandma. You saved my Grandma from a concentration camp in 1942.”

There was silence on the other line for a moment as Booker processed. “Mayta, Mayta was your Grandma?”

“Yeah. She told me stories about you. You’re her Sad Frenchman who carried her and sang her a lullaby when she was scared,” she whispered, “without you, I wouldn’t be here.”

Booker took a breath on the other end but before he could say something to ruin the moment she said, “and don’t you dare argue with me! I’m not going to fight you on this over the phone. Just accept you did something good, a lot of somethings actually. I’m gonna email you pics of this board, it’s incredibly hopeful, I think is the best way to describe it.”

“She told you about the lullaby?” Booker said instead.

“Yeah, she sang it to me when I was little. When I was scared or sad.”

“I used to sing my children to sleep. I was never much of a storyteller. Is Mayta still…” he trailed off.

“She died a few years ago.” Nile wiped the tear from her face with her sleeve.

“I’m sorry, Nile,” he said, she just hummed, she didn’t really want to talk anymore, it was only 11 but she just wanted to sleep now.

“Could you, I mean, will you sing it for me?” she asked, hoping she wasn’t overstepping. 

“Yeah, ok, for Mayta.” He cleared his throat and the first few lyrics were so soft she could barely hear him, but soon his voice found it’s groove and it wasn’t perfect. His voice was raspy and off-key, it broke on certain notes, and he sang an extra stanza she didn’t recognize, that her grandma must have forgotten. He sounded nothing like her Grandma’s near-perfect pitch and improvisations, but there was still something familiar in his voice. The grief, for Mayta, for Edna, for Booker’s boys, for the family Nile will never see again. There’s hope there too, for a peaceful night, good dreams, for a peaceful afterlife for lost loved ones. There’s Hope for a new day, for safe happy children, for parents who never have to bury their children, hope for a new family, for eventual forgiveness, for eventual happiness and contentment. 

Lullaby: Doucement s'en va le jour (Gently the Day Drifts Off)

Doucement, doucement,  
Doucement s'en va le jour  
Doucement, doucement  
À pas de velours.

La rainette dit  
Sa chanson de nuit  
Et le lièvre fuit  
Sans un bruit.

Doucement, doucement,  
Doucement s'en va le jour  
Doucement, doucement  
À pas de velours.

Le hibou tout gris  
Est déjà parti  
Chasser les souris  
Sous Les buis.

Doucement, doucement,  
Doucement s'en va le jour  
Doucement, doucement  
À pas de velours.

Dans le creux des nids  
Les oiseaux blottis  
Se sont endormis  
Bonne Nuit.

(English)  
Gently, gently,  
Gently the day drifts off.  
Gently, gently,  
It leaves oh so soft.

The small tree frog sings  
Its sweet song nightly  
Away, the hare springs  
Silently.

Gently, gently,  
Gently the day drifts off.  
Gently, gently,  
It leaves oh, so soft.

The gray owl hunter  
Flies off in the breeze  
To chase mice under  
The box trees.

Gently, gently,  
Gently the day drifts off.  
Gently, gently,  
It leaves oh, so soft.

In their nests so deep  
The birds snuggled up tight,  
They've all gone to sleep  
Nighty-night.

As the last notes of the song tapered off Nile wiped at the tear sliding down her cheek. It was quiet for a few seconds, “I should go,” Booker whispered.

“Wait,” Nile said, “just promise me something?”

“What is it?” 

“Promise me you’ll remember this. Promise me, when you’re at your lowest point, when it seems there’s no way out, that you’ll remember this night. Remember Mayta and all the other people you helped. Promise me that when you need help clawing your way out of that hole you’ll call me, instead of trying to deal with it on your own. You still have a family. Yeah, they’re mad at you and for very good reasons, but it doesn’t mean they, we, don’t care about and love you, ok.”

There was more silence and Nile feared they were cut off, “Booker?”

“Yeah, Yeah I’m here,” he took a shaky breath, “I- yeah, ok.”

“You promise?” she asked, feeling a little like she was ten making a pinky promise to her little brother, but that didn’t make it mean any less. 

“Cross my heart,” Booker said, she heard a light thump as if he hit his chest a few times.

“I’ll talk to you soon, Book. Goodnight.”

“Bonne Nuit,” (goodnight) Booker said.

Nile hung up the phone and placed it on her nightstand, she laid down in her bed, humming along to the tune of Doucement s'en va le jour, before drifting off to sleep.

So what did you think? Let me know in the comments and don’t forget to leave a kudos! 

I spent way too much time trying to pick out a good French Lullaby with an English translation that had meaning and could stick with someone for the rest of their lives. But I got to listen to a bunch of French children’s songs and lullabies so that was fun and Here’s a link to Doucement s’en va le jour on youtube if you want to hear it. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2x8oo93PNVQ

Also a link to Mama Lisa’s world of international music and culture where I found the Lullaby and some other cool songs.

https://www.mamalisa.com/?t=hubeh


End file.
